There is no god. That is not a scary thing to say. It is not depressing or demoralizing. In fact it is a wonderful and powerful thing – enriching, enlivening, delightful – bearing a history and leading toward a future.

When I say “no god” there are worlds of responsibility, history, belonging, duty, delight and memory attached. Most of these worlds come along unbidden and unconscious; some are linguistically learned and some are not. That is how language works. Its power lies in what it says as well as in what it brings along in the tail of its bright efflorescence. Words are like comets, burning with meaning and presence but they only do so because of the dark intense space through which they pass. Any utterance is like this. The universe of “no god” is both full of dark corners and cups of light because this world and its creatures are also such. The universe of language is born from the universe of the world. Each reflects the other. Each changes the other.